


She's A Fighter

by mrs_d



Series: dS Snippets [4]
Category: due South
Genre: And offensive language, Community: ds_snippets | dsc6dsnippets, Hockey, Kid Fic, M/M, Smart-mouthed teenagers, Snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don’t need a three game suspension for fighting your teammate in the parking lot. That’d be kind of hard to explain to your father.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's A Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ds_snippets](http://ds-snippets.livejournal.com/). Prompts were "grit," "flow," "bruise," and "penalty box."
> 
> Note offensive language tag: gender/sexuality slurs lie below.

Ray swept the pavement grit away from the wound on his daughter’s knee.

“That bitch,” Kim spat. “Why’d you pull me off her?”

Ray rinsed the cloth, turning the flow of water a muddy red, then started on Kim’s bruised face. “Because you don’t need a three game suspension for fighting your teammate in the parking lot. That’d be kind of hard to explain to your father.”

“He’d get over it,” Kim muttered.

Without answering, Ray got to his feet and hung the cloth on the side of the sink.

“Bitch,” Kim repeated. “The fuck gives her the right?”

“You kiss your father with that mouth?”

“I’m serious, Daddy. She’s got no right—”

“I know.”

“She called you a cocksucker, a fucking f—”

“I _know_ ,” Ray said through gritted teeth. “I heard.”

“So why aren’t _you_ more mad?”

“Believe me, I’m plenty mad.” Ray stretched out his left hand. “But you see this scar? 1999. Your father wasn’t there to hold me back. For once. The other cop complained, got a slap on the wrist for what he said. Me, I nearly broke my goddamn hand, and they took my badge for a week.”

“And your point?”

Ray raised his eyebrows at her belligerent tone. “My point’s that reter— retal— hitting back doesn’t help.”

“Makes me feel better.”

“For ten minutes, maybe. But that’s it.”

“So what, I need to breathe it out? Meditate?”

Ray tried not to smirk; he wasn’t supposed to encourage her sarcasm. “Why do you think the refs keep putting you in the penalty box, sweetheart? They’re trying to teach you some Zen.”

“Fuck Zen. I’m a hockey player.”

Ray helped her to her feet. Maybe they’d get through this day after all. “Well, better than curling.”

“I’m telling Dad you said that.”


End file.
